


What's Your Damage

by Obscure_ramblings



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Blood and Injury, Boys Kissing, Bruxa, Caring Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Chaptered, Come Swallowing, Complete, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, Gay Panic, Geraskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by The Witcher, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Sharing a Bed, Stealth snuggling, Witcher potions, Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, bruxae, gratuitous bedsharing, looking at you Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23995021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscure_ramblings/pseuds/Obscure_ramblings
Summary: "Why would you pay the merest hint of attention to danger when you could just prance about, singing your silly songs and ALWAYS GETTING UNDERFOOT?”"That's what friends do."Jaskier is injured while helping Geralt dispatch a band of bruxae and Geralt takes care of him. What starts as a sort of lopsided friendship—enthusiastic on Jaskier's part and more begrudging on Geralt's—leads to a bed-sharing situation featuring stealth snuggling, unconscious designs on the other's body, and the opportunity for each of them to display their oral abilities.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Question: Will I ever get bored of reading stories where the main couple has to share a bed, which lets them parlay their feelings into fucking?  
> Answer: No I will not. Give me all the stories.
> 
> This will be spaced over several chapters and the rating/tags may change as the story develops. Let's see where this goes!
> 
> Disclaimer that I've watched the TV series but not read the books or played the games, so most of my knowledge of this world comes from second-hand sources - and some stuff is made up, just for fun.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is injured while helping Geralt dispatch a band of bruxae. Geralt patches him up and takes him to seek help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has feeeeeeeeelings but is also emotionally constipated. I'm so glad that's a tag.

Jaskier panted, assessing his surroundings. His efforts to assist Geralt with dispatching a pack of bruxae that had been terrorising the male population of nearby Maellefrid, had begun with him flinging a rock in the direction of a rogue bruxa—and ended with the vampire releasing a piercing scream that sent a shockwave towards him, knocking him off his feet.

Tumbling partway down a hill and landing against a tree had left him seeing stars, and Jaskier blinked his blue eyes quickly to clear them. As his vision cleared, the bruxa arrived at the top of the hill. She inhaled deeply, catching the scent of his blood and charging towards where he lay. A rush of adrenaline powering him, Jaskier managed to get a knee under himself and was attempting to push up to standing when a flash of pale hair appeared behind the bruxa. Geralt took advantage of her fixation on Jaskier to slice his silver sword through her neck and send her head rolling to land at Jaskier’s feet.

Jaskier responded by collapsing to the ground once more, not even caring that that put his face in close proximity to the bruxa’s own. Geralt stormed over, kicking the head away and falling to his knees beside him, “Fuck, Jaskier, could you for once in your misbegotten life just STAY WHERE I TELL YOU TO?!” He reached for Jaskier, running fingers through the bard’s short brown hair, then roving across his lean body in an attempt to find out if he’d sustained any injuries. “You’re lucky that vampire wasn’t fully grown. Did you know the scream of an adult bruxa can flay the flesh from your very bones? Of course not, why would you pay the merest hint of attention to danger when you could just prance about, singing your silly songs and ALWAYS GETTING UNDERFOOT?”

Hurt by the tirade being directed his way, Jaskier replied in a small voice, “I was only trying to help. That’s what friends do.” The bruxa had broken away from the rest of the pack as Geralt took them down one by one, and had been stealthily approaching the witcher from behind when Jaskier took it upon himself to intervene.

Exhaling sharply, Geralt looked away briefly, clearly seeking to regain his temper. “I told you to stay with Roach,” he continued in a quieter voice, reaching for his bag to retrieve a salve and bandages for Jaskier’s wounds. Uncapping the salve, Geralt squeezed some onto his fingers and rubbed them together to warm the paste up, making it easier to spread.

“Well that’s a funny way of thanking me for saving you,” Jaskier tried to joke, then hissed, feeling the burn of the salve working to disinfect and seal the gash on his side, just below his rib cage. Geralt cast a quick glance up at Jaskier’s face, his amber eyes glowing slightly in the dim light, then, clearly deciding Jaskier could handle it, moved down to smear more salve on a deeper cut on his upper thigh. 

“Hmmm.” The single-syllable grunt Geralt made in response, as he expertly wrapped a length of bandage around Jaskier’s leg, managed to convey his utter exasperation with the bard. He finished his assessment of Jaskier’s wounds and reached for his bag once more, extracting a small vial and handing it to Jaskier.

“Bottoms up.” Jaskier tipped the contents down his throat, pursing his mouth and wincing at the taste of the pain reliever. “Ooh, that’s bitter. Though I suppose it can’t be worse than some of those horrid-looking concoctions you gulp down before a battle, eh?” Geralt had a wide variety of potions stashed in his bag, ranging from one that had the thick, sludgy consistency of tar to another that glowed faintly gold.

Cataloguing his aches and pains and trying not to move his leg, which had already bled through the bandage, Jaskier let out a startled noise as he found himself abruptly lifted off the ground. Bearing the bard’s weight as if it was of no consequence, Geralt carried him back up the hill and through the trees to Roach, who was waiting for them in a clearing a safe distance from where the bruxae had been lurking. Geralt positioned Jaskier on the front of Roach’s saddle and mounted, tucking the bard back into the vee of his legs.

“Well, isn’t this something?” Jaskier murmured. Roach typically wasn’t one to abide anyone but Geralt riding her—or even being in her general vicinity, at times. The months they’d spent on the road together must have softened the mare’s attitude towards him. 

“You need a healer, Jaskier, and I must claim my payment for dispatching the bruxa. We’ll return to Maellefrid,” Geralt said.

Jaskier’s exhaustion cast a haze over everything, body aching but mind still whirring as the last of the adrenaline surge worked its way through him. As the witcher squeezed his legs around Roach’s sides and turned the mare towards the town, Jaskier leaned back into Geralt’s warmth and closed his eyes, relishing the contrast to the cold night air.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier reach the inn at Maellefrid and call for the physician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring some original minor characters who are, respectively, scared of the giant gore-coated witcher and put at ease by the jesting bard.

Startling awake at the sound of Roach’s hooves hitting stone, Jaskier realised he’d dozed off on the way to Maellefrid. They were now in the town square, and the few folk who were about this late in the evening stopped to stare as the bloodstained pair rode past them. 

Reaching the inn, Geralt dismounted and led Roach to the hitching post. Slinging his bag across his back, he pulled Jaskier down from the saddle and carried him into the warmth of the common room, one arm slung around Jaskier’s back and wrapped along his side and the other tucked under his knees. The innkeeper, tall and sturdily built with dark brown hair streaked with grey, stood abruptly from where she’d been crouched, banking the fire for the night, and directed a shocked look their way. “By all the gods, what happened?” she asked, one hand flying up to her throat. Her husband, a burly man with a bushy dark beard who was sweeping the floor near the heath, had paused too, and now stepped closer to her, clearly startled by their appearance.

“We need a healer,” Geralt said, “And lodging for the night. I have coin.” Adjusting Jaskier’s weight so he could reach into his money pouch, Geralt withdrew several pieces of silver and some coppers that gleamed dully in the low light.

Recovering her composure, the innkeeper replied, “Of course. There’s no healer around these parts but Alvin will go to fetch Hubert, the physician.” At a gesture from her hand, her pre-teen son, who was the image of her in miniature, ran towards the inn’s door, opened it and slipped out. She approached Geralt and took the coins from his hand, tucking them in her apron pocket while subtly wiping off the blood at the same time. “I’m Alina. We have a room available upstairs and you’ll be needing hot water too, no doubt. I’ll get it heating now and Malcolm will show you the way to the room.”

Her husband, Malcom, who didn’t look too sure about going anywhere with a blood-soaked witcher and his equally gore-covered companion, looked after her as she bustled away through an open doorway that undoubtedly led to the kitchen. When she had disappeared from view, Malcom turned back to his guests and gestured hesitantly to Geralt, “Follow me.”

As they climbed the stairs, Jaskier tried to diffuse the tension. “Malcolm, my good man, I must share with you that I count myself lucky to be carried upright for a change. Usually when Geralt puts those broad shoulders to use, he's slinging me over one like a sack of potatoes. This position is much more dignified, wouldn't you agree?"

This startled a short laugh out of Malcom, who visibly relaxed as they reached the landing and proceeded along the hall to a door, which he unlocked with a large brass key selected from among several hung on a ring attached to his belt. Turning the handle, he pushed the door open and ushered them in ahead of him. “Hold there a moment,” he requested, then darted away down the hallway. He returned swiftly with an old sheet, which he laid out over the top of the bed. “There y’are. I’ll bring the water shortly.” 

He turned to leave but Geralt halted him, “My horse, Roach, is outside, tied to the hitching post. She’ll need tending to.” Malcolm nodded and slipped down the hallway, where they heard his boots thumping down the stairs.

Putting Jaskier down on the sheet Malcolm had laid out, Geralt lifted his bag over his head and positioned it close at hand on a small table that also bore a pitcher of water and wash cloth. He rinsed his hands in a bucket of water that stood to the side, getting the worst of the bruxa gore off them so he could dip the clean cloth in the pitcher of water and use it to wipe down Jaskier’s face. Jaskier released a small sigh. “Geralt, that’s heavenly. You make the sweat-soaked, heaving-breath look appear rather dashing, but I suspect I more resemble a discarded garment left crumpled on the floor.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replied, eloquent as always. He leaned in to inspect Jaskier’s wounds, noting that the bandage around Jaskier’s upper thigh was completely soaked through with blood. While the salve appeared to have worked to seal the gash Jaskier had sustained near his ribcage, the leg injury was a lot deeper. “Fuck,” Geralt muttered. He dipped the cloth in the pitcher again and squeezed a small trickle of water across the bandage, loosened the knot and began to unwrap it. 

“This is going to need stitches, Jaskier. Where the fuck is the physician?” Geralt retrieved a new length of bandage from his pack.

As he spoke, they heard Malcolm’s footsteps thumping back up the stairs. He shouldered the partly open door out of the way, biceps flexing as he hauled two large buckets full of steaming water to empty into the tub. “Hubert will be along shortly. Alvin’s just returned and is turning your horse out to graze now.” Turning and looking at Jaskier properly for the first time since he’d entered the room, he blanched, turning pale and stuttering, “The b-bone, I can see it, dear gods.” 

Jaskier, who had been following the principle that if he couldn’t see it, it wouldn’t seem so bad, now felt compelled to prop himself up and take a look. As Malcolm had noted, a glimpse of his thigh bone was visible through the wide slice in his skin and muscle, surrounded by what had been his favourite pair of dark blue trousers that so nicely matched his navy doublet with the silver thread. 

And with that thought, Jaskier passed out, collapsing back on the bed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The physician huffed. “All those monsters you deal with, you’re no better than them, and I won’t sully my reputation by treating the likes of you and him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the physician turns out to be a prejudiced asshole, Geralt takes Jaskier's care into his own hands.

Jaskier felt a sharp pain as the fingers of his left hand were pressed so tightly against each other, the bones ground a little. Coming back to full awareness, he blinked his eyes open. The first thing he saw was Geralt, sitting on a carved wooden stool by the bed where Jaskier lay. The witcher wore a sour expression Jaskier recognised as his “I’m-having-to-deal-with-people-and-I-don’t-like-it” look. At present, it was being directed over Geralt’s left shoulder towards the doorway, where a squat man with a balding head, wearing dark clothes and carrying a leather satchel marked with the sign of a physician, currently stood.

“No man who voluntarily keeps company with a mutant will come under my care,” he was intoning, pompously. 

“Don’t physicians swear an oath to aid any who require it?” Geralt enquired, turning so he could face the man more fully, which had the added benefit of loosening his vice-like grip on Jaskier’s hand.

The physician huffed. “All those monsters you deal with, you’re no better than them, and I won’t sully my reputation by treating the likes of you and him.” Sticking his nose up into the air, he turned on his heel and stalked away.

Alina moved forward into the doorway, watching the physician stomp towards the stairs. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’d no idea Hubert was so prejudiced. There’s a healer, Shani, who lives the next town over, but it’ll be several hours’ wait for her to arrive.” She wrung her hands. “Can I help with anything?”

Geralt was casting a positively feral look after the physician, but at the innkeeper’s words he refocused his attention on her. “Send for the healer. And bring more hot water and clean cloths. It appears I’ll be playing the role of physician.” He turned to look at Jaskier, clearly unsurprised to find him awake—no doubt the exceptional hearing that was part and parcel of being a witcher had alerted him to Jaskier rousing from his faint.

“Geralt, I…” he got out, before Geralt held up a hand, standing in a rush of flexing muscle and swinging white hair. The witcher reached for his bag and carried it to the end of the bed, opening it and withdrawing several items. Jaskier spotted a small sewing kit he’d seen Geralt use to minister to his own injuries during their travels, the same salve he’d used to seal the wound in Jaskier’s side and a sizeable silver flask chased with the image of a snarling wolf.

Geralt tied a strip of leather around his hair, taming it back into a queue. “He’s not the first to say it, and he won’t be the last,” he said, matter-of-factly. He unscrewed the lid the flask and held it out to Jaskier. “Witcher potions aren’t safe for humans, so you’ll have to make do with this.”

The bard took the flask and sniffed it. The earthy scent of fermented grapes underlaid by subtle notes of blackberry had him raising his eyebrows in delight. “Toussaint red?” he enquired. At Geralt’s nod of assent, he took a sip, rolling the wine across his tongue to enjoy the rich flavour. 

Alina re-entered the room, bearing the requested items and closely followed by her husband. “I thought Malcom might be of use, holding him down while you stitch.” Jaskier blanched at these words, suddenly deciding this was no time to savour the wine, despite it being some of the finest he’d tasted, and proceeded to open his throat and empty the contents of the flask down it in one gulp.

Malcolm’s eyebrows shot up to the ceiling. “Bet that comes in handy for drinking games,” he remarked.

Jaskier spared the man a wink, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes. “Do your worst, Geralt, and know that I hold you responsible for maintaining my dashing good looks. I don’t want my future bed partners to be so horrified by the scar on my thigh that their attention is diverted from my glorious manhood.”

Geralt merely grunted in response, retrieving a needle from the bowl of boiling water where he’d laid it a moment ago, and threading it with thick black thread. “Hold him steady,” he instructed Malcolm.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healer arrives and works on Jaskier's wound, as he attempts to work his charms on her. She leaves Geralt with instructions for Jaskier's continued care.
> 
> Geralt sighs externally and eternally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm making up this Witcher-world healing on the spot so please either hit me up with corrections or just suspend your disbelief if this totally contradicts how it happens in the games/books.

A thin line of buttery yellow sunshine edged through the gap in the shutters. It stretched across the floor and extended to the bed, where Jaskier lay dozing fitfully. Geralt watched the light move slowly up the bard’s body until it reached Jaskier’s eyes. He snorted and startled awake, then gasped in pain as the movement jolted his leg. He hissed in a sharp breath as his hands flew down to cover the bandages. 

Geralt said his name in a low rumble and watched as Jaskier visibly relaxed, recognising his voice, and lay back on the pillow.

“Melitele’s plump, round bosom, that hurts,” were Jaskier’s first words. Closely followed by, “Is there any water? My throat is as dry as a desert. Parched, Geralt, the word is ‘parched’. I don’t think I could sing a single note right now if my very life depended on it.”

Geralt filled a cup from the pitcher on the bedside table and handed it over. Jaskier took a gulp, exhaling in relief.

There was a knock at the door, and Alina and a tall woman entered. “Ah, he’s awake,” the innkeeper said. “This is Shani, the healer from Shoreside.” Shani wore a long, dark robe with the hood lowered, and had close-cropped light brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Her long fingers gripped the handle of a worn, dark leather satchel.

Alina backed out and closed the door, leaving Shani to approach the foot of the bed, where she placed her satchel before going to the basin to scrub her hands with soap and water. Drying them on a cloth, she moved to the bedside and nodded to Jaskier and Geralt in greeting. “What have we here?” she asked.

As she unwrapped the bandage, Jaskier filled her in on his daring venture, embellishing slightly in some areas where the action needed a little pick-me-up. As he spoke, his fingers twitched, planning which chords he would play on his lute to accompany this new epic. Geralt’s expression became even stonier as Jaskier progressed through the tale, until by the end the thunderclouds around his head were almost visible. “Jaskier,” he said, as the bard brought the tale to a close, “you had one job: Stay with Roach.”

Shani nodded again, assenting, “Self-preservation is a skill many could benefit from employing a little more frequently.” Jaskier didn’t react to her admonition, too caught up in practising verse combinations, until Shani prodded at the edges of the leg wound she’d uncovered. “This is a clean stitching job. Some redness and swelling, as we would expect.” As she pressed along the lower edge, the pain increased in intensity and Jaskier let out a noise in protest. “Hold still,” she instructed him.

Shani closed her eyes and held her hands over the wound. A soft, pale light emanated from them as she whispered to herself in a tone too quiet to be made out by the rest of the room’s residents. Small beads of sweat appeared on her hairline as she concentrated. Jaskier watched with equal parts fascination and horror as several small shards of wood and rock made their way through his skin and hovered below Shani’s hands, caught in the light. Opening her eyes, the healer let the shards fall to the sheets. As Jaskier poked at one, Shani took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders.

“I assume it was you who treated the wound,” Shani said to Geralt. At his nod of assent, she reaffirmed, “The stiches are well-done. There was some debris further in the wound that I’ve now removed.” She turned to face Jaskier, “I’ve progressed the healing of the broken bone and torn muscle but you’ll still need several days to recover before you attempt to put weight on this leg.”

Returning to the basin to wash her hands once more, Shani then reached for her leather satchel and withdrew a small clay pot glazed pale green and stoppered with a cork, along with two glass vials with different coloured stoppers. She handed them to Geralt. “This one,” she indicated the clay pot, “is a salve to be spread across the wound before rebandaging morning and night.” Pointing at the glass vials, she continued, “One drop from each of these before sleep. The black stopper is for wound healing, the red is milk of the poppy.”

Turning back to Jaskier, she said, “If you want to regain full movement in this leg, that means complete bed rest.” Reaching under the bed, she withdrew the chamber pot, giving him a significant look. 

Jaskier nodded, “Understood. The matter of dignity is out the window. My thanks for your expert treatment, my fine lady.” He tried a roguish wink, the effect somewhat dampened by the current circumstances.

“I’m not a lady,” Shani replied, rolling her eyes. She packed up her bag and turned to Geralt, raising an eyebrow as she continued, “I can tell you’re going to have your hands full. Now, there is the matter of payment.”

Geralt stood, finding he had barely an inch on Shani, tall as she was. He retrieved several silver coins from the money pouch on his belt, handing them to her. “You have my thanks, too.” She tipped her head at them once more, echoing the movement she’d used to greet them. Geralt watched her go, remaining facing towards the door even after she’d exited the room.

“Looks like we’re here for the duration then, eh, Geralt?” Jaskier paused. “You will be staying, won’t you? You’re not planning to abandon me to languish here while you and Roach ride off into the sunset?”

Geralt sighed.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This bed is big enough for three, at least." Jaskier raised his eyebrows and said in a conspirational tone, “I promise I won’t tell a soul that the big, strong witcher requires actual sleep upon occasion.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's bedtime, boys! Let's get cosy.

“Ahhh,” Jaskier leaned back against his pillows, replete. “Truly, that was nectar from the gods.”

Geralt had gone to the stables to check on Roach, and upon his return had requested a tray of food be brought to their room. The fresh-baked bread, hot mutton stew and ale Malcom had delivered had been demolished to the last crumb, and night was approaching once more.

“Hmmm,” Geralt hummed his agreement. The thick, savoury stew had been liberally sprinkled with herbs and the tray had included a small pot of sweet yellow butter that melted into the still-warm bread. Geralt had eaten many a poor meal at taverns and inns, not to mention those he prepared himself—over a campfire, if the circumstances were agreeable, or foraged and eaten cold in more trying times—but this had been delicious.

Having consumed his fair share of ale, Jaskier was starting to fidget uncomfortably. “Uh, Geralt, do you recall that less-than-dignified situation Shani referred to?” Geralt, needing no further hints, retrieved the chamber pot and assisted Jaskier with relieving himself, then lowered him back on to the mattress and went to switch the chamber pot for a fresh one. As he moved to place it under the bed, Jaskier yawned widely, clearly worn out by the healing his body was being required to do. “I think I’d better turn in,” he said.

Retrieving the medicines Shani had left, Geralt removed the bandage over Jaskier’s thigh, smearing a thick layer of paste over the wound before wrapping a new bandage around it, then measured out a drop of the potions in each vial. The milk of the poppy went down easily enough but when the bitter drop of liquid from the black-stoppered vial landed on his tongue, Jaskier screwed up his face. “Eugh, that could do with a spoonful of honey.”

“Just swallow it, Jaskier,” Geralt replied, unsympathetically, thinking of the taste of his witcher potions, which varied from foul to fouler. 

“All right, all right, I am. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt to add a little sweetness,” Jaskier said. “You know my sweet tooth is nearly as legendary as your daring feats.” Geralt did, in fact, know this, after so many months on the road together. When they were travelling between towns one of Jaskier’s favourite evening activities—aside from playing his lute and singing, of course—was crafting vivid descriptions of all the deliciously decadent desserts they could be eating, were they staying in one of the larger cities. His recitation of the flavour palate of a plum chocolate sauce pudding he’d tried as a youth had spanned three evenings, until Geralt bartered for peace by spending his last silver on a bar of chocolate from a market, which he then ate, piece by piece, without sharing a morsel until Jaskier promised he would put the words “moist as a maiden’s mouth” and “deliciously plump” out of his vocabulary for at least the next month.

As Geralt settled into his chair, preparing to sink into the meditative state he used to recover from injury and regain strength when true sleep was in short supply, Jaskier flipped back the covers and propped himself up on an elbow as he patted the mattress next to him. “Come now, Geralt, you can’t possibly expect to sleep in that chair. This bed is big enough for three, at least, and I know you didn’t catch a wink while you were scouting the bruxae nest the night before last.” He raised his eyebrows and said in a conspirational tone, “I promise I won’t tell a soul that the big, strong witcher requires actual sleep upon occasion.”

Two nights of sleeplessness, between the bruxa reconnaissance and then his vigil over Jaskier when he’d finished the stitches and was awaiting Shani’s arrival the previous evening, was truly nothing in the scheme of discomforts Geralt had experienced, but he knew Jaskier well enough to be sure that the bard would keep insisting, delaying the much-needed sleep that would help him heal, until Geralt gave in. “Fine,” he capitulated. He moved to lock the door then jam the back of a chair under the handle for extra security, before shucking his weapons harness, boots and most of the rest of his outfit, retaining only his smallclothes.

Jaskier watched until he was sure that the bed was Geralt’s final destination, then lay back, arranging his leg carefully so he wouldn’t jar it in his sleep. “Shani’s potions seem to be doing the trick. I can barely feel a thing below the belt, which would normally be a circumstance of great concern, but at present is rather pleasant.”

As Jaskier rambled on about the potions, the mutton stew and whether this phrase or that better captured the scene of the bruxa encounter, Geralt moved to extinguish the candles that lit the room, leaving just one burning on the small table next to the bed. He stripped the tie from his hair before lying down and drawing the sheet up to lie loosely over his chest, leaving his arms free to reach the knife he’d tucked underneath the pillow, should he need it. Glancing over at Jaskier, who had gone quiet, Geralt saw that the potions had caught up with the bard. He lay still, eyes shut and mouth slightly parted, breath coming slow and even as he slept. 

Geralt turned to lie facing Jaskier, watching his chest rise and fall, and feeling his own chest ache as he did so, although he couldn’t quite explain why. As Jaskier mumbled something that indicated he was still mentally composing his song despite his unconscious state, Geralt let his eyes drift shut and surrendered to sleep.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier had moved in the night. And because the bard apparently never did things by halves, even when asleep, Jaskier was not only lying directly on top of Geralt’s hair, effectively pinning the witcher to the bed, but also had his left hand tucked into the waistband of Geralt’s smallclothes.
> 
> *Warning for what could be interpreted as dubcon (addressed in the next chapter); hit me up with a comment if you'd like to know more before reading*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: *is a stealth snuggler*
> 
> Geralt: *gay panic*
> 
> We're getting there, folks! ("There" being closer to the boys boning down; wink wink, nudge nudge.) I don't have this plotted out, nor has any of it been beta read, but darned if I'm not having fun writing it! Let's see where the next chapter takes us.

The sound of footsteps in the hall caused Geralt’s eyes to fly open, whereupon he was treated to a very up-close view of Jaskier’s mouth and the dark brown stubble that was beginning to show along his jawline. Jaskier had moved in the night and now lay on his back, with his head on Geralt’s pillow. And because the bard apparently never did things by halves, even when asleep, Jaskier was not only lying directly on top of Geralt’s hair, effectively pinning the witcher to the bed, but also had his left hand tucked into the waistband of Geralt’s smallclothes.

As if beckoned by the fingers that were perilously close to cradling it, Geralt’s cock began filling and rising upwards. He went to roll onto his back but quickly discovered he was positioned right on the edge of the mattress. Starting to panic as the tips of Jaskier’s fingers brushed the head of his penis, Geralt froze, holding his breath. His erection, however, didn’t get the message and continued growing, clearly aiming to maximise the contact it was receiving.

Jaskier stirred a little, flexing his fingers, and sighed in his sleep. These small cues of imminent waking were ones Geralt recognised from their shared travels. With seconds to decide on a course of action, Geralt carefully brought his free arm up and slid it under the sheet to reach for Jaskier’s hand. Just as he grasped Jaskier’s wrist, the bard blinked his eyes open and said in a confused tone, “Geralt?”

Panic crescendoing, Geralt yanked Jaskier’s hand out of his smallclothes and sat up, forgetting that his hair was still pinned down. The abrupt movement dumped Jaskier on his side, causing him to land on his injured leg and, judging by the sound Jaskier made—which was reminiscent of a yowling cat—resulting in a great deal of pain. Geralt responded by falling out of bed and landing in a graceless heap on the floor. “Fuck,” he muttered.

A moment later Jaskier peered over the edge of the mattress. “Geralt, are you all right?”

Geralt sighed and pushed himself up to stand. “I should be asking you that. Let me check your leg.” When Jaskier didn’t respond, he glanced at his face, only to find the bard staring point blank at Geralt’s erection, which was now positioned directly in front of him.

Geralt quickly turned away to reach for Shani’s salve and a fresh bandage, hoping desperately that Jaskier would pretend this wasn’t happening. He should have known better.

“Having some interesting dreams, were you?” Jaskier grinned, raising an eyebrow. “It’s rather flattering to be the subject of someone’s deepest unconscious desire! Though for practical experimentation I do usually prefer to be awake to discuss boundaries beforehand,” he winked, clearly unbothered by the events that had transpired.

Geralt ran a hand over his face and gritted his teeth. “You moved in your sleep and had put your hand in my pants. I was simply trying to remove it without waking you.”

“I am known to be a bit of a snuggler,” Jaskier replied without shame. Apparently sharing none of the feeling of extreme awkwardness Geralt was currently experiencing, he indulged in a full-body stretch, then propped himself up on a pillow and flung the covers back. “Go on, then,” he nodded downward.

Geralt froze once more. “Uh,” he said intelligently, gazing down at Jaskier lay splayed across the bed before him. Was Jaskier saying he wanted to engage in ‘practical experimentation,’ as he had called it?

“What’s wrong?” the bard enquired. “I thought you wanted to check my leg.”

Geralt, realising this had not, in fact, been an invitation to further intimacy, pulled his attention back to the task at hand. He unwrapped the bandage from Jaskier’s leg and checked the area around the stitches. It looked to be healing nicely thanks to Shani’s treatment, and Geralt smoothed on another layer of salve before applying the clean bandage. As he worked he couldn’t help but notice how very close the wound was to Jaskier’s groin area, and for the first time he found his attention caught by the bulge that lay under Jaskier’s own smallclothes. A thatch of dark brown hair peeked over the top of his waistband, similar in colour and texture to the crinkly hairs scattered across the thigh Geralt was currently gripping as he rolled out the bandage.

Averting his eyes, Geralt finished up quickly and tucked the end of the bandage in place, then stepped back from the bed and cleared his throat. “I’m going to check on Roach.” He moved towards the door, only to be stopped by Jaskier’s light laugh.

“While I’m sure the inn’s other patrons would enjoy the view, you might wish to don some clothes before you go,” he suggested. Geralt, who had lifted the chair out of the way and was about to turn the lock, felt his ears heat. A blush? An honest-to-goodness blush? What was happening to him?

Foregoing a response, Geralt turned to the pile of clothes he’d laid on the floor the night before and quickly dressed, then departed without daring to look at Jaskier’s expression as he did so. The bard’s laughter followed him nonetheless and he moved quickly down the hallway to escape the sound.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier apologises for his unconscious designs on Geralt's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double chapter update today! Read on for Chapter Eight as well.

Returning to the room later that morning, after he felt he’d had sufficient time to get himself back on stable ground and gird his loins in preparation for what was bound to be a long afternoon of teasing from Jaskier, Geralt turned the doorknob and entered the room, only to find Jaskier out of bed, attempting to balance on his good leg while he relaced the waistband of his smallclothes.

“Fuck, Jaskier, did you hear a word Shani said?” Geralt growled, striding across the room and sweeping the bard into his arms so he could return him to bed.

“In fact, I did, thank you very much for your concern about my hearing, Geralt, but it turns out that no matter how blessed I might be in terms of the size of my…” Here, Jaskier glanced significantly downward, then raised his eyebrows, “Nether regions, I cannot reach the chamber pot without first exiting the bed.”

Geralt felt shame wash over him, realising Jaskier had been lying bed-bound, increasing in need of relieving himself, while Geralt had been hiding like a coward with Roach, getting her settled in a paddock behind the inn, delaying his return to their shared room. “I shouldn’t have stayed away so long.”

Jaskier shrugged, “No harm done. I made it before doing irreparable damage to either the mattress or my pride, and you’ve saved me trying to negotiate a return to the bed without jostling my leg overmuch.”

Geralt forewent a reply, instead seating himself on the chair by the bedside, gazing down at Jaskier, who fussed with the sheet, first drawing it up to cover him to the neck, then tossing it aside and rolling so he could look directly at Geralt. Clearing his throat, Jaskier said a little hesitantly, “But, uh, Geralt, I feel I owe you an apology. I know how you value your personal space and I violated that last night, even if I was unconscious at the time. I made light of it this morning because I didn’t want you getting upset with me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.”

Inclining his head in acceptance, Geralt glanced away and ran his fingers through his hair then met Jaskier’s gaze once more. “Thank you, Jaskier. I should have simply woken you but I had hoped to extricate myself without disturbing you. I know you need sleep to help you heal.”

A mischievous light entered Jaskier’s bright blue eyes, “I also want to make sure you didn’t sustain any injuries during your impromptu exit from the bed. It made quite an remarkable thump when your impressive musculature collided with the floorboards!”

Geralt rolled his eyes, secretly pleased to see a return to a less serious mood. “Hmm.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Jaskier replied, chortling quietly and propping himself up to a reclined sitting position. “Geralt, would you mind passing me my lute? As luxurious as it was to sleep in a real bed last night then laze about all morning, I’m getting rather bored.” Alvin, the innkeepers’ son, had brought the instrument and the rest of their belongings up to the room the previous evening in exchange for a copper.

Geralt retrieved the lute and placed it on the bed next to Jaskier, who opened it and reverently stroked the wood. “Ah, there you are, my beauty.”

Geralt—who was used to Jaskier crooning sweet nothings at his lute as if it were a sentient being—tuned him out and crossed the room again to collect his bag, placing it on the foot of the bed so he could inspect the contents for any gaps in his store of potions and medical supplies. If they were going to be in Maellefrid for a few days, he might as well take the opportunity to collect some plants and herbs to restock.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroes share a special dessert and Geralt seeks advice about Feelings(TM) from his most reliable source (it's Roach, his source is Roach).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second of two chapters today; I'm on a roll! Read on for sweet kisses and another step towards earning an explicit rating. Watch the tags for updates too from the next chapter.

Jaskier and Geralt whiled away a companionable afternoon in their room, the former alternating between strumming his lute and humming under his breath as he composed, while the latter finished checking his potions stocks and moved on to sharpening his weapons. When the sound of Jaskier’s rumbling stomach became audible, Geralt exited the room and went to obtain a dinner tray from Alina, including placing a special request for a particular dessert.

“Of course, I’ll have it ready in a jiffy,” Alina replied. “Would you like an ale while you wait?”

Thanking her but declining the offer, Geralt stepped outside the inn, watching as the deep blue of the sky started to darken and streaks of pink and orange underlit the low clouds on the horizon. He walked over to the paddock where Roach was contentedly grazing, clearly enjoying her freedom after the confines of the stable. She was used to being on the road more often than not and welcomed the shelter of a stall only in the stormiest of weather.

Scenting him as he approached, Roach lifted her head and walked over to the fence to bump her nose against Geralt’s chest. He ran a hand along her neck and sighed. “Witchers aren’t supposed to feel emotions, Roach. They say the capacity is stripped from us during the trials. So what’s happening to me?” Roach snorted and tossed her head. Geralt let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “You’re right, our bard has gotten under my skin. The question now is, what am I to do about it?”

The conversation holding less appeal for her than the sweet grass in the paddock, Roach moved away to graze, leaving Geralt leaning against the fence. Sighing, Geralt tapped his palms on the top rail twice, then turned to walk back to the inn. He exchanged nods with Malcolm as he passed through the common room, then collected the tray, thanking Alina and making his way up the stairs. Reaching the door to his and Jaskier’s room, he turned the handle and entered, closing it behind himself and crossing the floor to place the tray on the bed next to Jaskier, who had set his lute aside and was reading through some papers marked with his untidy scrawl. 

“Ooh, Geralt, that smells delicious. What’s on the menu this evening?” Jaskier enquired, not waiting for Geralt’s reply before lifting the lids from the various dishes Alina had assembled for them. “Is that a pot pie? Roasted pumpkin, bread, butter, and what’s this? Chocolate pudding!” Jaskier clasped his hands dramatically to his chest. “Alina really knows the way to a man’s heart.”

Geralt allowed himself a small smile, happy to give Alina the credit. It was enough for him that he was able to indulge Jaskier’s preferences.

The bard seized a fork, eyeing the bowl of pudding greedily and thrusting the tines deep inside, scooping a large forkful towards his mouth. Noticing the curls of steam rising from it, Jaskier extended his tongue and delicately licked around the edges of his fork, testing the temperature.

Geralt watched Jaskier’s pink tongue swirling around the chunk of pudding and felt his cock start to stir. Hastily redirecting his gaze, he reached for his own fork and dug into the pot pie, enjoying the taste of stewed beef in a thick gravy accented with thyme and parsley, contained in a crispy pastry case. He buttered some bread and placed it near Jaskier, who was now munching away on his mouthful of pudding, having waited just long enough for it to cool from molten hot. 

“Mmmmmmm,” Jaskier moaned, “Melitele’s tits, Geralt, this is good. Try some.” He dipped his fork back into the dessert and raised a scoop towards the witcher. “Though be warned, if you fail to show sufficient appreciation of this chocolately goodness, I’ll be claiming your share without a qualm.”

Obligingly, Geralt opened his mouth and accepted the bite of pudding. The flavour burst on his tongue and he swallowed, humming in agreement and licking up a bit of sauce that had landed on his lower lip. “Sweet.” Met with silence, he looked at Jaskier, only to find the bard gazing at his lips, his own mouth hanging slightly open and cheeks flushed. “Jaskier?” he said.

Startling a little at the sound of his name, Jaskier pulled back his fork and cleared his throat. “Uh, yes, I’m glad you like it too.” He shifted on the bed, bunching the sheet around his lap. The heady scent of arousal emanated from him, strengthening his natural aroma of pine and rosin, and Geralt breathed it in, feeling his body react. Taking a chance, he moved his own fork towards the pudding, dipping it in and lifting a mouthful up to Jaskier’s mouth. Watching closely, Jaskier opened up, giving Geralt another glimpse of the pink tongue that he’d just watched move so lithely. As the tines of Geralt’s fork slid back from Jaskier’s lips, he closed his eyes, the better to enjoy the flavours, and let out another, smaller moan.

“Fuck,” Geralt said. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes opened and the bard leaned forward a little, lips parting once more. Powerless to deny the invitation, Geralt slowly leaned in and met Jaskier’s mouth with his own in a kiss that tasted of sweet, rich chocolate. He tilted his head a little and reached up with one hand to grip the back of the bard’s neck, aligning their mouths to his liking as he moved his tongue against Jaskier’s.

Moments passed as they learned the taste and feel of each other’s mouths, then Jaskier drew back a little, breath coming heavily, as he moved to cup Geralt jaw, rasping his fingers over the pale stubble that had begun sprouting. “Geralt, is this happening? If you’re not ready, this is the moment to let me know. I won’t hold it against you but I also don’t want to wake in the morning to find you’ve had a change of heart, hared off and abandoned me. This has to be something we both want.”

Geralt met Jaskier’s gaze steadily. “I want this. I want you.”


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaning in, Geralt blew a stream of warm air across the head of Jaskier’s penis, enjoying the resulting bounce and twitch. He extended his tongue just a little and licked around the base, then laved a line of warmth directly up to reach the tip. Sparing a few moments to swirl around the sensitive glans, Geralt looked up to meet Jaskier’s blue eyes, noting the pupils were blown wide with desire.
> 
> *Note the rating change to Explicit and additional tags.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaskier ensures none of the chocolate pudding is wasted and both boys enjoy a good orgasm.
> 
> I missed updating last week but this chapter brings a decent bout of bedplay so hopefully it was worth the wait! I'm anticipating one or two more chapters to wrap this up.

“I want you.” As soon as the final word had left Geralt’s mouth, he leaned towards Jaskier again, knocking the tray in the process. Jaskier reached out, automatically moving to save his beloved chocolate pudding, and ended up with a hand covered in the gooey delicacy.

Jaskier gazed at it for a moment, then looked over at Geralt. “Can’t let this ambrosia go to waste, can we?” he said, raising his hand in invitation. Geralt responded by parting his lips and taking one of the fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it to remove the chocolate. The pine-and-rosin scent of Jaskier’s arousal intensified and Geralt breathed in deeply, savouring its combination with the sticky sweet of the dessert.

“Fuck,” Jaskier breathed, gaze flickering between Geralt’s golden eyes and the strong lips wrapped around his finger. Geralt slowly slid back from Jaskier’s finger, then moved on to lick the pudding off the next one, and the next until barely a speck of chocolate remained. By this point, Jaskier was panting a little and there was a clear rising under the sheet draped over his lap.

Geralt slid the tray off the bed and placed it on the floor, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it next to the tray. He kneeled on the edge of the mattress, looming over Jaskier, who was himself a pep talk under his breath, “Keep it together, Jaskier, you will not go off like a callow youth with his first paramour at the mere sight of that truly…obscene amount of muscles. I mean, are there muscles on top of those muscles? A veritable feast for the eyes.” 

Cutting off the bard’s narration, Geralt pressed his mouth against Jaskier’s, seeking entrance. Jaskier moaned in response, opening up to press their tongues together. He slid a hand up Geralt’s lightly furred chest and pulled back long enough to divest himself of his own shirt, then resumed the kiss.

The sweet taste of the chocolate pudding gradually diminished and Jaskier moved to press his lips against the strong column of Geralt’s neck. Between kisses, he said, “Geralt, as much as I’d like to do everything, all at once, right now, I’m not sure my leg is up for that much adventuring quite yet. What did you have in mind?”

Geralt arched his neck like a cat, making more space and enjoying the feel of Jaskier’s mouth against him, and responded in a low, husky voice, “To start with, I thought I would make my way down until I can take you into my mouth and suck you dry, then take myself in hand and paint a necklace of pearls around your throat and across your chest.” He moved to reverse their positions and press his own mouth against Jaskier’s neck. “When you’ve recovered from that, we could talk about stage two, hmmm?”

Jaskier shivered at the feel and sound of the words spoken in a low rumble as Geralt revealed his intentions, then met the witcher’s gaze with eyes gone wide and hips thrusting involuntarily into the air as he imagined the scenario. “Geralt, that is undoubtedly the longest speech I’ve heard you give, and I appreciate it, I do, but if you don’t immediately follow through, I fear I’m going to come right now, unassisted, and end your plan before it begins.”

Taking his cue, Geralt licked a line of heat down the centre of Jaskier’s chest, then moved to untie the waistband of Jaskier’s smallclothes and slide them out of the way. The thick thatch of dark hair that spread across Jaskier’s chest narrowed below his naval, then spread out again above the thick erection that speared upwards. His balls were similarly furred with dark hair and at present were pulled up tightly against the base of his shaft. Geralt cupped them in his palm, rolling and lightly tugging at them until they settled a little lower and the bard sighed, indicating his orgasm was less imminent.

Leaning in, Geralt blew a stream of warm air across the head of Jaskier’s penis, enjoying the resulting bounce and twitch. He extended his tongue just a little and licked around the base, then laved a line of warmth directly up to reach the tip. Sparing a few moments to swirl around the sensitive glans, Geralt looked up to meet Jaskier’s blue eyes, noting the pupils were blown wide with desire.

“Geralt, that feels so goooOOD...” The bard’s comment trailed off into a high note that broke as Geralt took the head and a good portion of the shaft into his mouth. Jaskier’s hands came up, one to cradle Geralt’s jaw and the other to curve around his head, not using any pressure to direct the witcher’s movements, simply enjoying the feel of him. 

Setting up a simple rhythm of sliding up and down Jaskier’s shaft, Geralt hummed a little, anticipating the resulting buck of Jaskier’s hips and moving with it to extend a little further down. His hands stayed busy too, pressing lightly against the hub behind Jaskier’s balls, then moving to smooth across his thighs to give the bard a break from the overwhelming sensation. 

Jaskier was panting loudly, hands roaming across Geralt, stroking his skin and mumbling encouragement in response to the flickering tongue that played across the head of his cock on every other stroke. As the rhythmic movements became too much, he tapped Geralt’s shoulder in warning, then when that elicited no change in pace or movement away, uttered a sharp cry and gripped both hands tightly around the witcher’s head as he came down his throat. Geralt kept up the licking and stroking through Jaskier’s orgasm, only pulling off when the bard’s legs began twitching with overstimulation. 

“Fuck me, Geralt, that was beyond any expectations I may have formed. Where did you learn to do the tongue trick? That certainly wasn’t your first time playing snake charmer.” Jaskier rambled, catching his breath and watching as the witcher rolled up onto his knees and unlaced the placket of his pants.

Geralt forewent a reply, too consumed by the need for relief. He brought his cock out of his pants, sliding a strong hand up along its length once, twice, then shifting up the bed to straddle Jaskier’s stomach. Leaning over the bard and bracing himself with his free hand, he stroked himself fiercely fast, feeling his testicles draw up and his muscles tense as his orgasm approached.

Jaskier, not one to remain passive, ran his left hand over the thick thighs that enclosed his body and reached his right hand further back to stroke the cleft of Geralt’s ass, pressing lightly but not fully entering. This additional stimulation pushed Geralt to the brink and he stuttered out, “Jas…Jaskier!” 

The bard barely blinked to avoid missing a moment of the spectacle that was Geralt, head thrown back, muscles all over his body tensed and hand pumping as come jetted from the tip of his penis, landing in thick, white stripes across Jaskier’s chest and face. Opening his eyes to watch as the last strand landed directly on Jaskier’s mouth, Geralt hummed appreciatively at the sight. He swiped a finger through it and Jaskier extended his tongue to capture it.

Feeling utterly sated, Geralt slid off to the side and flopped onto his back, avoiding jostling Jaskier’s leg as he did so. His cock lay half-hard and plumped against one thigh, and Jaskier rolled onto his side so he could cover it gently with a possessive hand. His other hand stroked gently over the witcher’s hard abdomen, rising and falling more slowly as Geralt caught his breath and relaxed into the mattress, bringing his arm up to wrap around Jaskier’s back and rest in the dip of his waist.

They lay pressed together as the light from the candles flickered across the room, and fell gently into slumber, each listening to the other’s heartbeat.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tossing a wink in Geralt’s direction, Jaskier slid himself a little further towards the foot of the bed, taking the sheet with him. “Time to return the favour,” he said saucily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I finally follow up on the blatant foreshadowing from Chapter Three regarding Jaskier's ability to deep throat. *wink* I'd absolutely planned to have some penetrative action going on but realised I'd kind of written myself into a corner with the injury I'd given Jaskier. Then I saw this fantastic tag used on another Geraskier fic that went something like "No tops, no bottoms, we suck dick like men." How inspiring!
> 
> So, this is it, folks! I had been pondering adding an epilogue but the ending kind of wrote itself so I've updated the chapter count and will call this done unless a moment of inspiration strikes sometime in the future. Thanks for reading!

Feeling Jaskier stir next to him, Geralt opened his eyes a slit, just far enough to determine that the bard was awake. “Good morning,” he said in a low rumble.

“It is rather!” Jaskier replied perkily. He leaned up from his current position tucked against Geralt’s side with his head against the witcher’s neck, and pressed his lips against the stubbled jaw. The sweet kiss was interrupted by an enormous yawn that ended in a stream of warm air blown directly against Geralt’s ear, eliciting a shiver.

“Oh ho, what’s this? A ticklish spot?” Jaskier smiled fiendishly and set to trying to provoke further reactions from Geralt.

Fending him off by placing a palm directly over Jaskier’s face and pushing him bodily down the bed, Geralt then propped himself up on an elbow and flipped back a strand of white hair that had slid across his chest. He surveyed Jaskier, who took a mere moment to recover from the indignity of having his face used as a prop, before noting his new position. Tossing a wink in Geralt’s direction, he slid himself a little further towards the foot of the bed, taking the sheet with him. “Time to return the favour,” he said saucily.

Not protesting a whit, the witcher lay back on his pillow, tucking his arms above his head, his bulging biceps framing the hard angles of his face, currently softened slightly by the smile Jaskier had provoked. As it appeared from beneath the linen, his erection bobbed a little, a pearly drop of precum glistening from the slit at the top.

Jaskier took a moment to enjoy the sight, then buried his nose in the pale hair that surrounded Geralt’s groin, inhaling the darkly masculine scent of him and nosing at the twin globes that lay heavily in their sac. He extended his tongue and licked around them a little, testing to see how sensitive Geralt was to the action. Some men couldn’t get enough of testicle play; others couldn’t care less, and it was always an interesting moment of discovery to share with a bed partner. 

The tightening of Geralt’s skin and deep inhalation told Jaskier that his attentions were appreciated, so he lingered for a few moments more, making sure both balls were thoroughly laved and each gently sucked in their turn, before licking his way up the under side of Geralt’s cock. Reaching the tip, he paused briefly to place an open-mouthed kiss around the head and give it a single gentle suck, before opening up and enveloping the full length in one smooth movement, his lips stretching wide around the base.

As his nose once more met Geralt’s pubic hair, the witcher let out a strangled moan and jack-knifed his upper body off the bed by sheer dint of flexing his absurdly strong core muscles, hands burying themselves in Jaskier’s hair to assist him. “Jaskier!”

Jaskier hummed in enjoyment, pleased to have drawn such a reaction from the normally stoic witcher. The vibrations of his throat pressed against the head of Geralt’s cock and elicited another choked noise, followed by a low curse.

Pulling back just far enough to catch a decent breath, Jaskier dove down once more and set to humming a simple melody, keeping his head otherwise still. Geralt slid one hand down from Jaskier’s hair to line up against his throat, feeling the vibrations both inside and out. “Fuck, Jaskier, that’s incredible.”

Blue eyes met gold as Jaskier continued his deceptively small movements, and Geralt fought to contain his orgasm, not wanting it to end yet. Taking a deep breath, he pushed down the urge to come, noticing Jaskier had positioned himself with his still-healing limb propped over the top of Geralt’s leg and was grinding his cock along it, clearly enjoying the sensation of the crinkly hair overlaying smooth skin. 

As he watched, Jaskier’s movement against him increased in pace and his humming stuttered a little, turning into a long, drawn-out groan as he came across Geralt’s thigh, his eyelids half-closing in pleasure. The earthy scent of Jaskier’s release combined with the intense vibrations surrounding his cock tipped Geralt over the edge and he roared Jaskier’s name as the bard swallowed several times, milking every drop of come Geralt unleashed before pulling off and collapsing half on the mattress and half on Geralt, breathing heavily as he drew much-needed air into his lungs.

“Sweet Melitele,” Jaskier rasped, “There’s big and then there’s…” he gestured at Geralt’s cock, which was still mostly hard and lay, wet and shining, against his lower abdomen, reaching nearly as far as his naval. “Phew!”

Geralt, who was also working to catch his breath as he drifted in the delightful lassitude that accompanied a good orgasm, simply grunted in response. He slid a hand under Jaskier’s body and pulled him up to nestle against Geralt’s side once more, mirroring the position they’d woken in. Tracing a pattern across Jaskier’s upper back with his fingertips, Geralt let out a deep sigh of contentment. “How is your leg?” he enquired.

Jaskier gave it a rub under the sheet and grimaced ruefully. “I might have strained the muscles a little. But I consider the endeavour well worth it! I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He arched an eyebrow at Geralt, and enquired, “No regrets on your part either, I hope?”

Geralt shook his head and moved his hand up to tilt Jaskier’s head back and press their lips together. The faint taste of his come underlaid their kiss as he briefly licked into Jaskier’s mouth, then pulled back. “This is all new to me,” he said, “And I don’t know where the path will take us. But I’m ready to find out, with you.”


End file.
